


Of Wardens and Wax Puddles

by pmonkey816



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Longing, PWP, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 01:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3338405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pmonkey816/pseuds/pmonkey816
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leliana finds Josephine and the Inquisitor in a compromising position that reminds her of her past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Wardens and Wax Puddles

**Author's Note:**

> From the kink meme prompt here: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/11864.html?thread=46579800#t46579800
> 
> My first foray into video games in general and fic writing for them specifically, and I wrote this in the span of like three hours, but hopefully my grand gesture of geekdom worked decently. Let me know what you think!

Leliana rarely slept at night anymore. It had become somewhat of a ritual for her, since the death of Justinia and the appearance of the Inquisitor in her life. Certainly, what she'd seen in the future and relayed back to the advisers had been troubling (particularly Leliana's torture and her sacrifice), as had the attack on Haven. But her insomnia had started long before that. She could trace it back to one of their first conversations, about the Hero of Ferelden. Yes, that was when it had begun and she'd found herself wary of the Inquisitor's presence ever since. It wasn't her fault, of course, for being curious about the Hero, and Leliana's relationship to her, but she couldn't help but feel a familiar ache in her chest when Lady Trevelyan was near.

 

Without Justinia to speak with, without her soothing voice and wisdom—which would always feel like the voice of Andraste herself, calling to her to lift herself even as she rotted in the Arl's dungeon—she felt adrift; lost.  It wasn't a new sensation, but it had been  so very long  since it had last been so strong , and it disturbed her to think she relied on others so heavily. She liked to think she never had before, though in reality she'd simply hopped from one savior to the next, throwing herself into causes larger than herself so she didn't have to consider who she really was. Luckily, her old friend Josephine— s omeone who'd known her as long as she was aware of knowing herself— had been there . She'd become a new lifeline, if not a different sort of one. A listening ear, a warm embrace, someone who could anchor her to her past without m iring her in it.

 

She found herself taking her nightly walk to Josephine's office, where she was almost always still awake, throwing herself into her work with lit tle care to her own well-being. At least, that had been so at Haven. At Skyhold, she'd found the Inquisitor in Josephine's office more often than not. When this was the cas e , she'd simply settle outside the door, listening to the gentle rise and fall of their voices, their coy flirtation masked in ridiculous propriety, and lose herself to her memories of Elissa. The way she'd sit quietly while Leliana talked and talked, saying nothing of importance, though the Hero seemed to find her endless blather tirelessly interesting. She remembered liking hearing tales of Ferelden and Elissa had loved her stories of being a bard in the Orlesian courts, how they both could surprise each other, even as time-worn as both of their innocence had been.

 

Leliana was no longer any stranger to the dark, to hiding in the shadows and simply listening. She hadn't been for so many years, and the idea of it was comforting. Most nights it was, at least, but tonight turned out quite differently than most. Skyhold was relatively empty this time of night, though the throne room was still kept lit by torches fit into new, ornate sconces on the wall. She smiled, thinking how much Elissa would like that one's duty was not decided by race or birth in the Inquisition, but instead that the burden was shared by all, according to their ability. Noble-born or not, she'd always been most comfortable among the servants, whose laughter came easily and was not so tied to  etiquette . She couldn't count the number of times she'd had to tell  one of the many nobles who sought her assistance during their time together to look for their soon-to-be hero among the cooks and the serving girls. It brought a burst of affection and sadness to her heart that she almost couldn't quell, and she swallowed the thought down along with her tears as she quickened her pace to reach Josephine more quickly.

 

Yet when she arrived at the door and reached out to push it open (it was ajar, after all, which usually meant Josephine was still working), she was stopped by a whimper. The smallest sound, really, accompanied only by the rasps of heavy breath. She found herself pushing into the shado ws of the small space between the two heavy doors without thinking, ears pricking for any sign that would tell her just how dangerous the situation she was walking into was.

 

“Inquisitor.” Josephine gasped the words, and she heard the shuffling of feet—stepping away or toward she was not sure. “What are you doing?”

 

“I'm sorry, Lady Montilyet.” Came the stammered reply. Leliana snuck a look through the crack of the door, positioning herself so that she could see what was happening inside. “I thought—No, I wasn't thinking. That was too forward, wasn't it? Balls.”

 

Leliana fought the snort of laughter at the Inquisitor's graceless ways, particularly being of noble  lineage as she was. Perhaps she was more like the Hero than Leliana had given her credit for. She stood a few feet away from Josephine, rubbing at the back of her neck in a clear show of discomfort. Josephine, for her part, looked part scandalized and part intrigued, her arms crossing her chest, which—despite  obvious effort—was rising and falling fast.  _Oh Maker, she kissed her_ . It was almost too funny, really, that for all their awkward courting and Josephine's wild streak as a young woman, they were still playing such silly games with one another.

 

“It was...” Josephine's eyes flickered from the ground up to meet Trevelyan's, then quickly back down again. “Not... bad, necessarily. Just... yes. Forward.”

 

The Inquisitor grew a lopsided smirk on her face, a familiar look  for her , and raised an eyebrow. “Not bad, huh? Usually I get something a little more enthusiastic than that.” She  said, chuckl ing at her own joke.  A fter a moment of silence in which Josephine showed no mirth of her own,  opting instead to simply stare at the Inquisitor with a furrowed brow, Trevelyan dropped her eyes to the floor. “I should probably go, shouldn't I?”

 

She did not get more than a step away before Josephine reached out to grab her hand. “No.” It was as commanding a voice as Josephine generally took with someone of equal standing, and certainly moreso than Leliana had ever heard her use with someone who was technically above her in position. She felt herself cock an eyebrow, remembering that tone all too well. That was exactly the tone that had ended up with one of Leliana's arrows pinning Josephine's smallclothes to the Chantry board in  Val Royeaux . This was certainly getting interesting. Leliana shifted so that she was no longer squatted down, settling instead to sit leaning against the wall with her knees pulled to her chest.

 

“Don't go.” Josephine said, equally as commanding, pulling the Inquisitor nearer to her. “You simply surprised me.”

 

Trevelyan turned to face her again, standing mere inches away, her face shadowed by the torchlight behind her. “You're not upset?” She asked, hesitant.

 

“No.” Josephine let her hand trail up the Inquisitor's arm until it landed in the shaved hair at the back of her neck. “It's not befitting a Lady to do such things, yet...” She paused so her tongue cold flicker out to moisten her lips. “I find myself utterly incapable of caring at the moment.”

 

Leliana's heartbeat picked up in her chest, the thrum of excitement hammering into her bones. She knew she should give them privacy, should really get up and leave, but she could not remember the last time since Elissa had left for Vigil's keep that she'd been excited so. Not even the occasional lover had set her heart thundering louder than the hoofbeats of an entire army the way the tenderness and anticipation of this moment was.

 

There had been a brief moment's hesitation where they'd both simply regarded each other, breaths caught in their throats, before they'd crashed back  together , tenderness and restraint overpowered easily by the force of desire, of a burgeoning affection. Josephine's other arm wrapped around to pull the Inquisitor's face even harder against her own, while Trevelyan had taken to gracelessly pulling her closer by the hips, grinding herself forward with a youthful abandon. They kissed for a long time, whether they realized it or not,  giving Leliana time to study the flicks of tongue, the way they adapted to match one another . Now their breaths were as tangled in one another's as lips and tongue and teeth, barely managing to be had at all.

 

Leliana shut her eyes against the image, letting her mind wander to her first time with the Hero. Not their first kiss, necessarily, that silly thing which had caught her so unaware, and lasted far too little time. That kiss had been a statement more than an act of lust, a confirmation in ways no words could have been. It was just like her love, to act instead of speak. Maker, how she missed her. Her lips in particular, cracked and rough against her own, which she'd  always taken care to keep soft. Elissa had thought it silly, she knew, that she remained vain in the midst of a blight. She'd never had the chance to tell her she did it at first to catch her attention, then later simply to see the loving smile that would cross her face as she ran the pad of her thumb along Leliana's lips, shaking her head.  _Orlesians. I will never understand you._ The voice in her head was so crisp, clearer than it had been in years. Her eyes squeezed tighter, trying to block out the tears that threatened at the memory. When one managed to slip out, she opened them again.

 

She gasped at what she found. Josephine had been backed up to her desk and lifted partially onto it, her skirts pushed up so that the Inquisitor could run her hands along her thighs. The view was not unpleasant. Josephine had a wonderful body beneath that mountain of clothing that she wore, and Leliana was no worse off for the sight of those shapely calves and the hint of  soft, thick thighs above it. She snapped her mouth shut quickly, though neither of them had noticed the sound, too wrapped up in one another to pay any attention to their surroundings.

 

“Inquisitor.” It was a different kind of word in Josephine's mouth now, almost a moan in its vulgarity, and Josephine's hands scrabbled to cling to the fabric of Trevelyan's shirt. The Inquisitor let out a groan of her own at the harsh scrape of nails through the fabric, burying her face into Josephine's neck to stifle it.

 

It was then that Leliana noticed the reason for Josephine's outburst. The scarf around her neck had been pushed aside to reveal the buttons at the front of her blouse, opening it for the Inquisitor's hand to slip inside.  _Oh, Maker_ _'s breath_ . She couldn't fight it, nor did she particularly want to, when her hand slipped up to palm her own breast, finding her nipple already hardened and waiting beneath the nightgown she was wearing. She bit down hard on her lip to keep from whimpering, and pulled her hand back a bit to thumb at her nipple, sending shocks of fire skittering across her skin.

 

“You're so beautiful, Josephine.” The Inquisitor's words were spoken softly, but with no other noise to compete with it but their harsh panting paired with the echo from the high ceilings, the words reached Leliana's ears clearly. She almost whimpered along with Josephine, only stopping herself at the last moment. “Oh, Andraste's ass. I've wanted to do this for so long.” The hand beneath Josephine's blouse shifted and she gasped, hooking a leg around the Inquisitor's hips to pull her even closer.

 

“I—have, too—Oh, Inquisitor— _touch me_.” Her words came out in little gasps of breath, broken and unstable, and she pressed her forehead hard into the Inquisitor's shoulder.

 

Trevelyan chuckled, placing a sweet kiss behind Josephine's ear. “Only if you call me Evelyn.” Even as she said it, her hand had moved to slide up the inside of Josephine's thigh, trailing a noticeably light touch up toward her smallclothes.

 

Josephine let out a shaky breath, fingers clenching around the fabric balled in her fists. “Evelyn.” She repeated, less vulgar now, yet still with a hint of whine to her voice.

 

“That's my girl.” The Inquisitor—no, Evelyn—said, a cocky grin on her face as her hand disappeared completely into Josephine's skirts.

 

Leliana swore she could feel it. Swore Elissa's hands were on her own thigh, cold in the darkness of her tent but warming the longer they were pressed  against her skin. She could feel her breath brushing against her ear, her neck, could taste the elfroot from the endless healing potions they 'd needed to consume on the tip of her tongue. Somehow, she could taste Josie, too. Sweet and musky and overpowering as she writhed against a statue of Andraste placed on the chantry steps, biting down hard on her cries as Leliana brought her to completion again and again. Leliana was trembling now, little shivers that blurred into one another so that it was one fluid motion, almost rocking but not quite. She settled one leg flat against the ground and moved her own hand down to tease at herself through her smalls. She had never imagined what sort of lover Trevelyan would be, caught up in her first impression as she was, but it didn't particularly matter now. She might as well have been Elissa, for that was what she represented to Josephine.

 

Who, for her part, was now grinding shamelessly down on Evelyn's hand, whimpering softly into her. “Please, Evelyn.” She whispered, so quietly the words almost lost form by the time they reached Leliana. “I need you so.” She swallowed harshly, one hand moving to push on Evelyn's elbow.

 

The Inquisitor pulled back to look into Josephine's eyes, bringing her free hand up from her breast to cup her chin and force her to meet her eyes. “Are you sure about this? We can still stop, if you want to.”

 

Josephine simply smiled and leaned in to kiss her again, this time much more sweetly than before, but no less passionate. When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against Evelyn's, trying to catch her breath. “I am sure.” She pushed on her elbow again, gently this time, and added, “I do not wish to stop.”

 

Evelyn nodded and soon Josephine's eyelids fluttered and her breath came out in a rush of a stuttering gasp. “Oh, Maker.” The word somewhere between a whimper and a prayer. Perhaps it was both, a submission and a powerful wish for the miraculous.

 

Leliana hastily pushed aside her own smallclothes and slipped a finger against her clit. She stifled the moan that threatened to tumble from her, bringing her free hand up to her mouth to ensure she wouldn't slip up and make her presence known. Elissa had been a fan of this, after all, touching her in public  and making her squirm,  so she should be quite good at it by now . Once, at Arl Eamon's estate in Denerim, she'd pleasured Leliana under the dinner table as Queen Anora and Alistair bickered ceaselessly  about politics across from them,  unaware of the other Warden's finger rubbing against her, of the fire threatening to consume her at any moment . She felt the surge of wetness that accompanied the pulse of pleasure the memory instigated. She slid her finger down to  rub along her entrance, imagining the way her Cousland had brought her fingers slyly to her lips  after she'd found her release , the way her eyes—sparkling with mischief—had fluttered shut at the taste of Leliana still fresh on them. Her hips rocked forward of their own accord, and she bit down hard on her palm to stop herself from crying out.

 

She tried to bring her attention back to Josephine and Trevelyan, to reground herself back in the present. They were kissing now, though it was less skillful now, and more blindly pressing together—tongues and teeth knocking awkwardly as they attempted to get as close to one another as possible. She pushed her finger into herself, trying to match the rhythm of Josephine's hips as she thrust hard against Trevelyan's hand. She'd propped herself back on her hands so that her hips could lift off the desk and move freely, and their pace had escalated rapidly. She could hardly blame them, though, she had only her memories to warm her and she already felt her own release approaching swift as one of her ravens on the high winds.

 

“You're incredible.” It was the Inquisitor speaking, but Leliana heard it in Elissa's voice, strong and forceful, accompanied by the panting of her breath.

 

Now Leliana remembered the feel of the Hero around her fingers, silken and so, so hot. She remembered the clench of the muscles inside her, trying to pull her in deeper, always deeper, always more, as if she could never have enough of Leliana. It was Elissa Cousland at her most bare, giving freely to Leliana what most would never see—her without a cocky smirk or a playful flirtation or a heroic gesture. Instead, these moments were simply two people reveling in the depths of one another, connecting in a way that felt impossibly intimate, almost too much so.  _Please, Leliana. Take me. I'm yours, forever_ . The voice in her head grew in volume and intensity as her pleasure rose, ascending a beautiful crescendo, something beyond the most lovely song a bard could  hope to write.

 

She moved her teeth to her wrist, Josephine's moans and broken attempts at language mingling with Elissa's in her mind.

 

“Oh! Oh, Maker! Don't—Don't stop!” Josephine groaned, her voice hitching higher and higher the more she spoke. With one final cry, she thrust against Evelyn, bringing Leliana crashing into the haze with her.

 

Her vision faltered, eyes open but unseeing as her release melted her into nothing but pleasure, wax pooled on a table, only coming to when the flame snuffed out and the cold air began prickling at her and giving her solid shape again. She blinked a couple times, fully expecting to wake and find it had all been a dream, the sort of trick of the mind only the fade could offer. But instead, she found herself sprawled on the stone floor outside Josephine's office, a bruise purpling on her wrist from where she'd bitten it too hard. She looked through the crack in the door again, finding Evelyn placing gentle kisses to Josephine's cheek, stroking soothing fingers along her scalp as she recovered.

 

The affection their tenderness had affected in her before turned to ice in her chest, and she quickly scrambled to her feet, feeling suddenly like an intruder into their private moment. She turned to head back to her chambers, hugging her arms tightly around herself. In the morning, she would ask permission to seek out word of Elissa, to find out if she was well. She was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to know in a way she'd been able to distract herself from before. If she could not have the comfort of her love's embrace, then perhaps she might be able to have a letter, some piece of information, something scented like her love—anything, really, she wasn't picky—to hold onto during the long months that laid ahead of them. Yes, in the morning everything would be all right.


End file.
